


Takedown

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Gen, Kinky Gen, Spreader Bars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-10
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 18:26:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt "spreader bar" at bandom_meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Takedown

Pete fights being held down. Not on purpose, but on instinct. After two black eyes and a bloody nose, Gabe has accepted that if they're going to play, they're going to play with solid accessories that would restrain a horse, much less a pint-sized rock star.

("We have talked about the short jokes," Pete said, aggrieved and holding an ice pack to Gabe's nose. "Not in the bedroom, come on, that's just a dick move."

"You kicked me in the nose, asshole, I get two free dick moves and one public mockery."

"Twitter, not public."

"Deal.")

And so, today. Leather cuffs buckled tight around Pete's wrists and fastened together with a bull snap. Cotton tope wrapped tight around the wrists and run through the rings on the cuffs, then brought up and tied to the headboard. Pete facedown, thick leather collar around his neck, matching leash running from the collar to the headboard just above the ropes. And for a final touch and the protection of Gabe's face, the spreader bar currently in Gabe's hands, being turned back and forth like a baton in the candlelight.

Pete's watching from the corner of his eye, the best he can do with the leash drawn tight. "C'mon."

"Quit nagging me."

"You promised--"

Gabe smacks him on the ass with the bar. "I said quit it."

"Well, are you going to _do_ something or are you going to--"

Gabe thumps him again and climbs onto the bed, kneeling between Pete's feet and buckling the cuffs attached to the bar to each of his ankles. "Nag, bitch, whine, complain..."

"Are you trying to get me to beg for forgiveness?"

"No." He knows how to get begging. Begging will come later. He gets the bar buckled and thumbs the catch, extending its length until Pete's legs are as wide as they can comfortably go. He could push it further, add strain to his hamstrings with everything else he's going to do. Maybe if the whining doesn't stop.

He runs his hands up the back of Pete's legs, palming the solid muscles of his calves and then his thighs. They're tight, quivery with anticipation. Pete's on-edge tonight. "Take a deep breath."

"I don't--"

"Take a fucking deep breath, fuck, you're like a child."

"Dirty." Pete takes a deep breath, letting it go in a sullen huff against the mattress, and Gabe pinches the inside of his right thigh, digging his fingers into the delicate skin as hard as he can.

"Mother _fucker_." Pete's voice cracks and he tries to kick out, the bar limiting the movement to a clumsy flop that Gabe can easily avoid. "Asshole."

"Yeah, yeah." Gabe studies the dark spot against Pete's thigh for a moment and licks his lips. All that exposed skin, the most delicate and vulnerable on Pete's body. All his to play with like he wants to. He slides his hand up, ghosting his fingers over Pete's balls just to see him jump and shiver, then down the other thigh, until he reaches the point where he can leave a matching bruise on that side.

Pete doesn't curse at that one, he moans, the sound half-swallowed by the mattress. Gabe nods in approval, petting lightly at the small of Pete's back. "No more kicking."

"No promises," Pete mumbles. Gabe smiles and pinches again.

He holds on longer this time, until Pete writhes under him and bucks up off the bed. This is the part where he wishes the restraints weren't necessary; holding Pete pinned with his weight, taking him down with nothing but his hands and determination, getting submission because he _took_ it--that would be even better. But not so much that it's worth the repeated hits to the face. This way, Pete gets to fight against something he can't injure, and Gabe gets to manhandle him to his heart's content, making Pete take whatever he cares to give out, skin to skin.

Overall: more than worth it.

Pete twists, gasping. "I hate you."

"Shut it." Gabe ducks his head, pressing a kiss to the back of Pete's thigh, then bites him. "I do what I want."

"Fuck, fuck fuck." Pete takes a ragged breath, his hips rising off the bed and then thrusting down, his legs kicking a little against the bar. Instinctive struggles, not a serious attempt to escape; Gabe can tell the difference from the muscles in his back. He reaches up to rub them, now, tracing his fingers through the sweat-sheen on Pete's skin.

"Bite again," Pete says after a moment, and Gabe's happy to oblige, grinding his teeth down this time to make sure the mark will blossom black and purple, bruising as deep as he can give. Pete cries out, hands twisting and yanking against the rope, and when Gabe draws back far enough to see, there are tearstains on Pete's face.

"Break?" Gabe asks, reaching over to the bedside table for the glass of water that's waiting there. He takes a drink and moves up to hold the glass to Pete's mouth, guiding his head with his free hand. "Am I being too mean for you, Wentzy?"

"Fuck off." Pete closes his eyes and swallows, tongue darting over his lips. "Keep going."

Gabe shrugs and sets the glass aside, picking up the candle instead. "Okay." Pete's eyes widen, then shut tightly, and Gabe moves down between his legs again. "And it's all mine," he says, cupping his fingers over Pete's balls with one hand while he tips the candle with the other, letting hot wax fall in an arc on Pete's inner thigh.

The noise Pete makes now is less a cry than a squeak, thin and helpless, his face pressing down into the bed while his hips rise up, legs struggling to close, to protect himself. Gabe watches, enjoying the fight, the ragged gulps of breath and the shaky little sounds that Pete makes as he gets control of himself again. He even lets Pete hold that control for a while five seconds before he tilts the candle to the other side to match.

"Symmetry is awesome," he says, raising his voice over the renewed noise. "You know? That's, like, part of life. Vertebrate life, anyway. I saw a thing on the Discovery Channel. Bilateral symmetry. Fucking awesome."

Pete's shaking his head back and forth, fresh tears streaking his face and the mattress. Gabe stretches to the side to set the candle down and then stretches out against Pete's back, pinning him loosely with the weight of his body. "Okay," he says in Pete's ear, pushing the part of his brain that wants more back into its box. Another time. They've got all of that in the world. "Love you, brother. You did good."

"You're a sadistic motherfucker." Pete's voice is muffled and shaky, but strong enough that Gabe smiles.

"No shit, Sherlock." He presses a kiss to the back of his neck. "That's what you like about me."


End file.
